


Bridges

by elusivelover_archivist



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusivelover_archivist/pseuds/elusivelover_archivist
Summary: By Z.P. FlorianHan supports an assassination attempt... against Luke.





	Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cara Loup, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Elusive Lover](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Elusive_Lover_\(Star_Wars_archive\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Elusive Lover’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ElusiveLover).

“If it’s a really big one, you shouldn’t get Han. He’ll screw it up for you.”

It was just a whisper against the blaring noise of the holoscreen that was constantly on in the bar, on the loudest setting to provide a cover for those who worried about the everpresent listening devices installed by the local government’s secret service. Some said it was not only on public places, but even in the homes. Everybody seemed to know someone who’d been arrested for words spoken at the dinner table. Getting used to the holoscreen’s loud noise was a small price to pay for relative safety.

Han had learned to ignore the sound of the holo and listen to the whispers. He knew they were talking about him, even if he was half-asleep. Now he opened his eyes and looked around. “I could use a job, you know, Pietan,” he said.

“Last time I gave you one, you didn’t even show up.”

“I was drunk.”

“And that’s my point.”

“I don’t even have enough money to get drunk now,” Han protested.

“I wouldn’t even talk to you, if you weren’t such a damned good mechanic. But if you screw me over now, you’ll never, never work in this port again.”

The Corellian rose to his long legs. He towered over the two small, green humanoids standing at the bar. The effect was lost on them. They were used to the smuggler. When he’d first showed up in Port Kalathan, his tall body and penetrating hazel eyes coupled with the skill of handling his blaster or just his fists, had earned the respect of the portside gangs. It didn’t last long. Now they regarded him as another of the many has-beens. One never knew if he was sober enough the next day to remember whatever job he was hired to do. His freighter rusted in one of the docking bays, waiting for repairs that the Corellian kept talking about, but never got around doing. Instead, he worked on the ships of others and spent the money he made in the cantinas, getting drunk. Lately, they said, he had been buying more than booze. If that was the case, he’d soon end up like so many before him, another emaciated corpse without a name to put on his tag. Foreigners were easily lost around here, the secret police seemed to keep tabs only on their own. Perhaps that was why Han had decided that Kalathan port was the right place to be permanently drunk in.

He seemed alert enough for now. Pietan looked up at him. “I’d need you to rig a remote to a load of explosives over on Freedom Bridge.”

“What for?”

“What is it to you what for? To make it go boom at the right time. You don’t have to know what for.”

Han shrugged. “Yeah, sure, I don’t need to know. I just... Last time you had something like this going, the collateral damage included a busload of nuns and a dozen orphans with them. I wasn’t really comfortable with that, you know.”

“Nobody was,” Pietan admitted. “It reflected badly on the whole movement.”

“Your comrades are in deep shit ever since,” the Corellian said.

“Well, this action will put it right. Only the Opressors and their Offworld sponsors will die.”

“You’d better be right about it,” Han said. “How much? And when do you want it done?”

“You have two whole weeks. It’s going to be on Endor Day. For the celebration of the anniversary of the Alliance’s triumph.” Pietan grimaced, his green face twisting into a bitter grin. “I was really happy when the Empire collapsed. Who’d think back then that we’d have a military government that’s even more evil than the Imperials were. And the Alliance, supporting them.”

“I know,” Han said impatiently. “You’ve told me a million times. And I told you a million times that the Alliance had nothing to do with what kind of lousy government your compatriots created after the Imps pulled out. Blame the rotten traditons of your own people, Pietan.”

They’d had this conversation before, Pietan thought, looking up at Han. “This time, no collateral damage.”

“How much does it pay?”

“Five hundred.”

“One thousand.”

“I can get a patriot do it for free,” Pietan said.

“I know your patriots. They wouldn’t know which end of the varidriver to plug in. All they’re good for is spouting revolutionary bullshit.” Han leaned against the bar for support, he was more dizzy than drunk, wondering if he should eat something before he had another drink. “One thousand.”

“All right, seven hundred, and I’ll buy you a drink right now.”

“You’re too clever by far.” Han laughed. “It’s a deal.”

“You can pick up the explosives tomorrow at my house. We will take care of placing them on the bridge, all you have to do is to rig the remote. Five hundred yards?”

“Why not a whole goddamn parsec?”

“Oh, shut up. You can do it. Here’s your drink.”

The large hands closed around the tall glass, and Han was lost to the world.

* * *

Pietan watched the nightly holonet. All was well. The schedule of the celebration hadn’t changed. The prime minister and the first consul were to cross Freedom Bridge at the appointed time with the Jedi Lord, the spiritual leader of the New Government. The man whose death, Pietan hoped, would devastate the Alliance.

 _They deserve it_ , he thought bitterly, for allowing Kalathan to sink into a deeper misery than before the Rebel victory that, supposedly, brought freedom to the whole Galaxy. _Jedi Lord, indeed, who with all his telepathic powers and Force-magic can’t see what kind of government Kalathan suffers under_ – Pietan growled. The holographic images showed the Jedi now, it was some newsreel from five years ago, taken shortly after the victory. The Jedi, Luke Skywalker, looked small and surprisingly insignificant. Behind him, a group of Rebel leaders –

Pietan hit the save button. He brought up the picture and zoomed in on a face. _I’ll be damned_ , he thought. _It’s Han. Rebel leaders? Even with Standard Humans looking fairly alike_ , Pietan mused, _no doubt this is the Corellian. Younger, definitely less worn, cheerful. Ex-rebel? There’s some poetic justice to this_ , he grinned.

He hastily shut off the holo when the doorbell signaled. It was the Corellian with his package of explosives, the wiring and the remote. The work was beautiful, professional, neat, like anything Han had ever done for them or anyone else. Pietan counted out the money.

“Seven hundred. Looks like a fine job.”

“It’ll work like a charm. Five hundred yards. Maybe a bit more.”

Pietan looked at the man. Tousled hair, too long, unkempt, white shirt going gray, scuffed boots, the pants worn thin over the knees. Only the blaster and its holster were polished to perfection. The hazel eyes blinked sleepily. Drunk, of course.

“You’ve been with the Rebels?” Pietan asked.

“For a while,” Han answered.

Pietan shook his head. “There was a... gods of my fathers, there was a Corellian, a Han Solo among them, was that you? A general, the one that almost married a princess from Alderaan, the planet the Imperials blew to pieces?”

“Every other Corellian is called Han. Would I be here, working for seven hundred lousy credits if I was a general who’d courted a princess?”

“Perhaps,” Pietan said. “As the wisewomen say, in the hills and valleys of life, we go up as often as we go down.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Han grinned. “What brought this on? Suddenly you got interested in my past?”

“I’ve seen a holo on the net about the Rebel leaders, and one of them looked like you.”

“Have your eyes examined.” The Corellian wasn’t grinning anymore.

“Hold your horses, I don’t mean to pry. But if I’ve seen it, others did too. People will ask questions. Perhaps you should take a long hike in the mountains for a week or so, let them forget all those old newsholos that show up for the anniversary.”

“Good advice.” Han nodded and left, sinking the creditcube into the pocket of his vest.

* * *

Han meant to go. In fact, he meant to leave Port Kalathan alltogether. Pietan had gotten too close to him, two more steps and they’d almost be friends. His ship wasn’t in a very good shape, but it’d take him offplanet, to another port somewhere. He had enough fuel for that. He thought he might go to Kashyyyk, to see how Chewie was doing.

When the Wookiee had moved back home for good, Han had felt bitter, but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t even blame Chewie; after all, being elected High Council member was not something he could refuse. If he’d go visit Kashyyyk, would Chewie keep quiet about it? The Wook probably kept in touch with Luke and Leia. Maybe he shouldn’t go to Kashyyyk then... or maybe he should go and ask Chewie to keep it private.

Han turned on to the well-lit street to go to the port. But gods, he was thirsty and with seven hundred in his pocket, there was no need to rush anywhere. He could very well leave in the morning, after he’d had a few drinks. He’d been working on the remote for a long time, drinking far less than he wanted to. He’d go to his ship, straight away, just stop on the way at a tavern for a glass or two. It was late. The nights were long on this planet, with its large, black moon blocking the sunlight when on any other place it would have been morning already. One could sleep long here.

Han turned back, leaving the main street. The alleys were pitch dark, only the pale fluorescent house numbers guided him. The locals had better eyes to navigate in the dark.

The holo was on in the tavern. Han cursed silently, hoping it wouldn’t show anything he wouldn’t want to be seen. Pietan had seen too much already.

He sat down in a corner, ordering his drinks. His back to the holo, he drank, feeling better. As usual, he ignored the sound of the holoscreen, but some of the conversation at the next table drifted over to him.

“That’s him, that’s Skywalker.”

“He has yellow hair. Standard Humans often do.”

“Not that often. Look, his eyes are blue. Now that’s a strange color for eyes. I had a pet nerf once, it had blue eyes.”

“I wouldn’t trust him. You know, maybe Pietan’s group is right. The Imperials had Vader for a Jedi, and the New Government has his son. Not much difference.”

“Pietan’s group is a bunch of terrorists.”

“Guerillas.”

Han grinned a little. Conversations at this point tended to erupt into a fistfight in Kalathan port.

“You think they’re going to do something for the celebration? Last year they killed the Minister of the Interior.”

“And a busload of orphans. Terrorists, I say.”

“Damn, they never meant to blow up that bus. It was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Any place is wrong when you blow up something there.”

“Not this time.”

“They can’t possibly think of blowing up the Jedi. Security will be so tight that a bird wouldn’t get past it.”

Han turned. “Skywalker is coming here?”

“You don’t watch news, do you?”

“Not much.”

“Well, he is coming. Never thought I’d see the day, but this time, we’re really going to have a fancy delegation here. The Prime Minister’s going to name Freedom Bridge after him. Going to be Skywalker Bridge. I guess he had to come for that.”

Han drained his glass. _Cannot be_ , he thought, _this cannot be. The worst joke in the universe. Holing up here, as far away from it all as possible, and Luke is coming here_. He’d better leave right now.

The words about the bridge penetrated a second later. A wave of nausea hit him. Han staggered outside, trying to fight it. He knew how good the explosives were. He knew how good the remote was. There’d be nothing left of the bridge and anyone on it, Skywalker included. _This cannot happen_ , he thought, _I can’t get him killed_.

What to do – turn Pietan in to the authorities? Rat on someone who trusted him? Pietan would be tortured and hanged. Turn himself in? _That’d get me hanged_ , Han thought, _and the explosion could still happen_. Call the secret police and warn them? They’d search the bridge, find the explosives. That was all right then, he wouldn’t have to rat on Pietan.

He went to the port, looking for the nearest public comlink. His hands shook as he dialed the number of the secret police. It was a number that shone brightly on every wall, with words of encouragement to the Kalathaners to turn in anyone they suspected of being disloyal to the government. His call was answered immediately.

“I want to report a planned assassination,” Han said.

Something heavy slammed into the back of his head, and the world went black.

* * *

He dreamed. Or remembered. It was morning. The sunlight drew patterns on the wall, patterns of carved shades on the windows. Skywalker slept on the wide bed, his tousled hair as sunbleached blond as it had been when they’d first met.

Han had just returned from some all-night diplomatic affair, bored and angry. He’d had a fight with Leia on the way there and another on the way home. He wanted family and children – that was what he thought a wife was for. She wanted a husband who’d support her work and be at her side at state functions. He told her he wasn’t cut out to be a decorative accessory to match her outfit. She was insulted. He told her she should give him children. She said it wasn’t the right time. He said that where he came from, it wasn’t a question of timing. She told him he had embarrassed her at the state dinner. He said he didn’t care.

It was a lie, but he couldn’t say anything else. It wasn’t the first time that he’d felt lost among the dignitaries. He thought they were empty, greedy, and uncaring. He spent most of the evening in a quiet corner, getting drunk. He decided against marrying her. He thought it was the war that gilded their relationship until it looked like love. Peace was a harsh light. Love faded in it.

As he left her standing angry and bitter at the door of her bedroom, Han wanted to talk to someone. Her brother. His friend.

Luke slept, and he didn’t want to wake him. Sitting down in the wicker chair near the bed, Han watched the sleeper. The patterns of sunlight shifted slowly, caressing a bare shoulder, lighting up the gold in the soft hair. For Han, he was always the kid. Jedi, pilot, fighter, lord, telepath, prophet, whatever others called him, he was the kid for Han.

Strange, he thought, sitting by the bed. Luke hadn’t changed in peacetime. Except the hair that darkened in the belly of spaceships devoid of sunlight, then turned gold again planetside. The truth flooded Han suddenly, leaving him feeling stunned. It wasn’t her he wanted, perhaps it had never been her. Not the sister. In her, he’d seen the reflection of Luke, a part of Luke that he could reach out for. A part that had been offered to him, and he took it.

How he wanted to change it now! To go back in time and undo it all. He’d been jealous when Luke told Leia the truth about his parentage – but who was he jealous of, the brother or the sister?

Luke stirred on the bed, turned, the blanket sliding off his shoulder even more, his body exposed to the waist now. Han imagined the rest of it. How warm it must be under the blanket, the heat of the young body... Just to touch him, to feel the living silk of the inner thighs, to draw his fingertips slowly across the hard abdomen, to wake the kid up with a teasing kiss. How would it feel, to hold him, to brand him with kisses that’d leave marks on his skin...

The thought aroused Han suddenly. Then a wave of nausea swept over him and he pulled back, shaken. What was he thinking – what was it that he wanted to do? Didn’t he know how it felt to be taken that way?

He’d buried the memories from the nightmare years of his childhood, when Captain Shrike owned his body and soul, from the day he was picked up, a starving little beggar on the streets of Corell... and if he ever refused to steal, beg, cheat or lie for Shrike, punishment followed... How often it was rape, because that wouldn’t leave marks on his face or his body, so the next time he was sent among people to play his part in some clever scheme to fleece the rich, he wouldn’t look beaten. And now, after so many years, he’d want to do the same to Luke, the one person who’d always been good to him? Han left the room then and forbade himself to think of it.

Days passed, and he failed. As he’d failed so many times to hold onto anything clean, anything pure, anything honest. He was destined to fail... He had to accept it, when his body kept wanting, craving Luke. He dreamed of it, day and night, he was aroused violently just by looking at the ‘kid’. He hated himself for it. His daydreams of making love to Luke ended with the memories of being raped by Shrike or someone else ordered to punish him.

Han tried to escape the images and the arousal by drinking as hard as he could, refusing to explain what was wrong with him. Luke asked him over and over to tell what was eating him, but how could he say anything? It was best to leave, without saying goodbye. It had been a huge mistake to think he was able to lead a respectable life. He’d been a beggar at the age of four, a thief and a burglar at ten, a con man, a smuggler, a pirate later, and if he thought he’d done all that because he’d been forced by Shrike, that was only part of the truth. He was no good to begin with.

If he’d been really good, he could have resisted, no matter how hard he was punished, no matter if Shrike wouldn’t feed him if he didn’t do the assigned work. Shrike had probably raised him to be a criminal because he was born to be one. The final degradation that he’d want to – how did they say it – bugger Skywalker, his only friend... had proved beyond the shade of a doubt that Han Solo wasn’t fit to live with decent people. Perhaps he’d been born good, maybe everybody was born good, but the filth he’d been living with had warped him. The sooner he admitted it, the better, Han told himself then.

Women were no problem, their invitations were clear and unmistakable, their bodies, Han knew, were built for the pleasure he could give them while taking what he needed. But to think of Luke that way... to think that he’d want to do to Luke what he himself dreaded more than anything...

Han left, never allowing himself to look back, buried himself in the farthest place he could think of, and proceeded to put an ocean of booze between himself and the world. Hoping that one day, he’d forget forever what was on the other side. Or that there was another side at all. And he’d almost managed... and now... he’d get Luke killed... because he’d been reluctant to rat on Pietan. He was thinking like a criminal again, as always, like the criminal he’d been raised to be.

“I thought you’d try to do this,” Han heard Pietan talk. “You’re that Han Solo, the ex-general, you wouldn’t have the heart to blow up a former comrade like Skywalker. Sorry, but that’s not a concern of mine. My country comes first, and your emotions are a very distant second. I’ll keep you here, safely tied up, ‘til the explosion is over. Then you can go.”

Han opened his eyes. His head hurt, a thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his neck. “Do me a favor, Pietan, shoot me now.”

“You’ve been useful to us many times. I wouldn’t want you dead.”

“Listen to me just once. Skywalker is a good man. He’s a Jedi. He’d feel the wrong on this planet, he’d understand your fight. His visit here is a chance to put things right. Don’t do this, let him look around here, let him sense the suffering of your people. I know him, he’d do exactly what you’re trying to achieve. He’d be the first to help you get rid of your corrupt government, Pietan, I beg of you, give him a chance,” Han pleaded.

“It’s too late now,” Pietan said. “Even if I’d believe this, the explosion’s set up, I can’t possibly convince the revolutionary council to listen to you. The opportunity is too good to miss.” He crouched down to look Han in the eye. “I know what you feel, it must be horrible to think that you were a part of this, but if not you, someone else would’ve done it. Skywalker is destined to die on Kalathan. Don’t think it’s all your doing.”

Han closed his eyes and refused to listen. He felt like screaming and whimpering, or crying as he’d done on the streets of Corell when he was four years old and utterly alone with his misery. If Shrike hadn’t been there to take him, he’d have starved to death in the back alleys. And maybe it would’ve been better for everybody he’d ever met. How many times had he escaped death, and why? Skywalker had come to rescue him twice, on Bespin and on Tatooine. It was because of him that Luke had lost his right hand, and now he’d lose his life because of him as well. He had to stop it, he had to save Luke...

He had to think. Where was he anyway? He had metal binders on his wrists. His boots were gone, his ankles were tied with a rope. Looking around, Han realized he was in the basement of the tavern. Crates lined the walls. He tugged at the rope to find that it was firmly tied to the pillar in the middle of the room. Pietan was the only person he could see. But Pietan was usually armed with a needlebeamer.

Han’s mouth felt dry and every cell in his body was screaming for a drink. “Pietan, could you please give me a glass of water, or perhaps brandy?” he asked, using the kind of tone he’d been taught to use when they trained him to beg as a child.

Pietan smiled at him, a sad smile that told Han the man felt pity or perhaps compassion for him. _He thinks I’m that helpless_ , Han thought, dismayed.

Pietan came to him with a tin cup filled with the local brandy that Han usually drank.

Han reached out for it, took it between his manacled hands and brought it down on Pietan’s head with all his strength. Pietan’s look was that of a man betrayed. He didn’t fall, just swayed and with a trained response, he drew and shot – Han jerked away, the thin needlebeam hit anyway, with a hot, piercing pain, but Pietan fell to his side and lay still. Han took the beamer from his fingers, used it to cut the chain between his manacles, then freed himself from the rope.

“I’m sorry, Pietan,” he said. “I’m so sorry. There’s no other way.”

He pressed the beamer to Pietan’s temple. The guerilla opened his eyes and looked at Han. “Damn you,” Han groaned. “I can’t...” He settled for tying Pietan up with the rope.

The pain of the shot just started to register. Biting his lip, Han leaned down and searched Pietan for keys. He found both the small key for his manacles and the large one to the cellar door. Freeing himself, he climbed the few steps to the door and locked it behind him. The tavern was closed for the night. Outside, the first watery light of dawn colored the sky.

He started to go and felt himself falling. The wound in his side was bleeding badly. Han checked his fall, grabbing onto a table. He barely managed to stay upright. There was a comlink behind the bar, he knew that. He could probably reach it. He had to reach it. Damn, he’d been hurt before and managed to live with it, to save his own worthless hide, now Luke’s life depended on it.

His sight was fading in and out, he felt blood soaking into his pants and tried to staunch the bleeding with his palm. His fingers were slippery with blood when he finally got hold of the comlink and tried to dial. Twice, Han missed the numbers, his hands shook, and he couldn’t see what he was doing. The third time he got connected to the secret police. He was surprised to hear how steady his voice sounded. _Fake it, Solo, that’s what you are best at, faking it_.

“Check the Freedom Bridge for explosives,” he said.

He knew it was enough. He also knew that in minutes, the SecPol would trace the call and pick him up. They’d also fix his side, so that he’d be well enough to be tortured for any information he had on anything or anybody. Han wiped the blood off his fingers on his shirt and opened the cash register on the bar, shoving the cellar key into it. Whoever would come in to open the tavern in the morning would get the hint and free Pietan from the cellar. _Perhaps then Pietan can make himself scarce before I’ll have a chance to betray him under torture_ , Han thought.

The cash drawer slid shut. Han held onto the bar and groped for a bottle on the shelf behind him. There was no need to be sober when they arrested him.

* * *

“Sir, the prisoner is detoxed and his wound is now sufficiently repaired. Still, I’d suggest to use drugs rather than torture, he might not be strong enough to survive it.”

It was a droid who spoke. Han opened his eyes reluctantly. He was sober, he was washed and dressed in a plain white coverall. His side was numb, probably the result of some local painkiller spray. An officer of the Kalathan Security Forces stood in front of him.

“You’re the one who made the comm call?”

“Yes.”

“The explosives have been found and removed from the bridge. Now you’re going to tell me how you knew about them and who else was involved in the conspiracy to assassinate the leaders of our planet and the Jedi Lord Skywalker.”

“Not if I can help it,” Han said.

“Strange,” the officer remarked. “You call us to report the attempt, but you’re not willing to help us to arrest the terrorists.”

So the explosives were removed. Luke was safe. That was all Han cared about. And that he should keep his mouth shut. If they were going to give him a truth drug, he’d talk, but this wasn’t the first time someone tried that kind of drug on him. He’d talk, there was no resisting the drug – but he didn’t have to talk about Pietan. The drug would force him to reveal his deepest secrets... he’d do that. _It’s gonna be humiliating, but one more level of degradation shouldn’t matter_ , Han thought. At least he wouldn’t turn into an informer.

He relaxed when the injection was administered. Allowed the drug to work without resistance. Shut his ears to their questions and talked. About his innermost feelings. Being as truthful as the drug demanded.

He talked about Skywalker. About his desire to see Luke naked, to touch, to kiss, to taste. To hold and never let go. To kiss the nape of his neck, to trail kisses down his spine, to bury his hand in the blond hair, to stroke his cock with his fingertips, to feel the hardness of him in his palm. To offer his own body to his kisses. To feel Luke’s mouth on his naked chest, Luke’s hand on his back when they kissed. He talked about much more, freed by the sly power of the drug, he dreamed, riding the irresistible currents of enforced honesty. The images aroused him. He didn’t hear the voices of his interrogators. He wasn’t there with them. He was in some indifferent room, on some nondescript bed, tasting the skin of Skywalker’s neck with his tongue.

Later, when the second dose of the drug flooded his nerves, Han talked about his shame and his horror born of the rapes he’d endured, his revulsion, his belief that he was no better than those who’d used him. He admitted with even deeper shame that sometimes he believed his life could’ve been better, that he probably deserved a little less pain, that he wished Luke would accept him, even like or love him. He admitted in rambling, incoherent sentences that he was hurting, and couldn’t quite make himself accept the pain without resentment. He confessed that in rare sober moments he believed he wasn’t entirely without merit. He admitted that he deeply regretted he’d ever dared to attach himself to the Skywalkers, that he’d dared to believe a man like him could live in their company. He confessed that he fervently hoped not to survive the interrogation.

He told them everything. They listened incredulously.

“Damn,” the ranking officer said. “Never seen the truth drug do this to someone. Spouting poetry. Perhaps it’s calibrated to Kalathaners, not Corelli. Take him to a cell and wait a while ‘til he’s well enough to be tortured the good oldfashioned way. I’m not interested in his love life, past or present.”

The commscreen came alive with a message from the office of the prime minister. It was a direct order to transfer the prisoner, Han Solo, to the military hospital.

* * *

Pietan was alone in the safehouse of his group, up in the mountains. He wasn’t expecting visitors. He knew Han had been arrested, but Han didn’t know about this hideout. Yet there was someone walking up to the house on the narrow trail. One man, without escort.

Dressed in black, without any adornments. His blond hair looking impossibly golden under the gray sky. Pietan waited, his blaster drawn. As the visitor came closer, he recognized the dark clothes, the face.

Skywalker... Pietan was sure now that Han had somehow betrayed him, far beyond reporting the planned explosion. Or... the rumors were true, and there were no secrets for the Jedi.

“There are always secrets,” a soft voice said behind him.

The trail was empty, the door never opened, and yet Skywalker stood in the room.

He was not any taller than Pietan himself, lean and lithe, calm, so calm that his equilibrium was frightening in its perfection.

“Han never gave your name to the authorities. Even I don’t know your name. But that’s not important now,” Skywalker continued. “I understand why you felt that terrorism was your only weapon, anyone who fought the Empire would understand that. Many legitimate regimes rose to power using the same method. They tend to call it heroic struggle in retrospect. This kind of lie would ultimately destroy you. Admit what you have done and allow your people to condemn or celebrate you, as they decide.”

Luke waited for a moment, measuring the extent of Pietan’s acceptance. He nodded. “The Alliance will help you gain power and will continue helping you as long as your comrades bring a better life to this planet. The present government will resign within four days. Your organization, with the help of Alliance negotiators, can form a new governing council, preferably after a free and just election. You have the support of the majority. I feel it. By tomorrow, the secret police will be disbanded. There might be some who resist, but I’ll stay here ‘til everything calms down. The Alliance appointed me to serve as supervising advisor. That, in fact, gives me as much power on this planet as any Imperial governor used to have.”

Pietan stared. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. His head still hurt where Han had hit him.

“Oh, yes. You’ll need to be in a better shape,” Skywalker added, touching Pietan’s bandaged head lightly. “You can take off the bandages. We can walk back to town, and on the way, you’ll tell me what kind of political system you plan to establish. And when we’re through with that, you can tell me about Han Solo.”

“He said you were going to do this,” Pietan said with awe. “He said you’d notice the wrong and help my people.”

 _He knows me that well_ , Luke thought, _he trusts me that much_. It was a wonderful thing to know. It filled him with hope. “Now, please, tell me about him. He’s a stubborn one, he can shield himself even if he doesn’t have the Force. If drinking too much can be called a shield. I was looking for him at first, but then I thought he’d come back when he’s ready. Does he live alone?”

“On and off,” Pietan said. “Sometimes somebody moves in with him for a while, not because he asks them to, but women have this tendency to try and save a drunkard, if he’s handsome. Even my kind can see that he’s good-looking, discounting of course the color of his skin. If he were green, he’d be a real ladykiller around here.”

 _So he hasn’t ruined his health yet, if his body is still in good shape_ , Luke thought. He’d been worried about that, not knowing how good a job Han did trying to destroy himself.

Pietan seemed to answer the unspoken thought. “He’s probably indestructible like plastisteel. Will you talk to him? Tell him I owe him one.”

“What for?”

“For not shooting me when I was down. Even after I shot him.”

“Tell him yourself. I’m going to visit him now, you should come.”

“I have an arrest warrant against me.”

Skywalker smiled again. Pietan thought that for a Standard Human he had a fine smile.

“Those warrants against you and your guerillas are revoked,” the Jedi said. “Nobody’s going to arrest you.” He looked at Pietan long. “Children? And nuns? You’ve killed children and nuns?”

Pietan gasped. “You’re reading my mind... that was an accident. We didn’t know they’d be there.”

“You’ll carry the pain for the rest of your life. It’s a heavy burden. I know. I carry such pain myself. Come now. Han needs me.”

* * *

Luke stood at the foot of the hospital bed. It had been years since he’d seen Han. Long years. Too long. Were those white strands in Han’s hair? Had he ever been this lean? Had he ever looked this tired? Were his dreams ever this gray, this empty?

The confession under the influence of the truth drug hadn’t been all that surprising for Luke. He’d felt Han’s attraction to him long before Han had left them. Odd as it had been, it was Leia who understood first, asking Luke if he agreed with her observation. He had, without thinking too much about it, taking it for granted back then that eventually Han would decide to say something. Now the utter confusion of Han’s emotions was a shock to him.

 _I should have known better_ , Luke thought, feeling quite confused himself. _I should’ve known that Han had to have scars – hell, not scars, bleeding wounds to hide, to make him walk out on us the way he did. Any psych-droid would qualify Han half-insane with the unhealed memories of what that kraat-eating bastard did to him_ , he seethed.

Pacing up and down the small room, Luke wished he could reach out with the Force and choke Shrike as Vader had supposedly done with anyone who’d angered him.

“The patient is sedated,” the nurse said. There were no droids in the hospital. “He has been properly treated, his wound will cause no problems. The truth drug is neutralized. When the sedative wears off, he’ll wake up naturally in a couple of hours.”

Luke sat down beside the bed. “I’ll wait.” He turned to Pietan. “You can come back later. Actually...” he adressed the nurse. “If there’s no medical reason against it, the patient could perhaps be transferred to my quarters.”

* * *

When Han opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a bed under a gold and crimson brocade canopy. The huge room around him was equally opulent. Fresh flowers stood in large vases, trueglass mirrors hung on the walls. Tapestry covered every surface and crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead.

The man standing beside the bed looked at home in the rich surroundings. His clothing was black and unadorned, but the fit and the materials spoke of superb tailoring. The gold of his shoulder-length hair and the blue of his eyes were all the jewel-colors he needed. His posture was... Han thought, lordly. It took him a moment to recognize Luke Skywalker.

With a slight gesture of his hand, the Jedi caused a crystal decanter to float over to him. The thick, milky fluid in it poured into a glass of its own accord and the glass levitated to Han’s lips.

“Drink.”

“What’s this?” Han asked. He was thirsty but suspicious of the liquid.

“Sea-boar milk. It’s what you need. Nourishing. And well proven to help recovering alcoholics.”

“Oh yeah, and what makes you think I’m one?” Han asked, taking a cautious sip of the liquid. It was salty and not exactly pleasant-tasting, but he found himself gulping it down.

“The task at present is to put you back together.” Luke said.

Han actually felt the power of this announcement in every cell of his brain. “Cut the Jedi bull. It never worked on me, never will.”

“That was nothing, you merely felt it a bit. I wouldn’t use manipulation on you.”

“Yeah, then what was it that I felt?”

Luke shrugged apologetically. “I’m using a lot of power. A twinge of it might touch you.”

“Using a lot of power for what?”

“Right now, to do what you said I’d do. To give the benefit of our victory to this people here. I’m not manipulating you, but I do exert influence over what passes for government on this planet.”

“You do this while you stand here and chat with me?”

“It doesn’t matter where a Jedi Master stands,” Luke said, thinking how pompous this sounded, like many other things he’d have to say about what he was doing, the simplest truth making him sound like something not quite human. What would Han think of this man he’d become, would there be a distance between them when Han saw him for what he was? No, he mustn’t doubt that Han would see more than just the changes.

“Since when are you a Jedi Master?”

“I don’t know. It just happened at one point. I trained very hard after you’d left.”

Han couldn’t take his eyes off this very different Luke. This wasn’t the enthusiastic farmboy he’d met, nor the crack pilot, not even the skilled Jedi Knight he’d seen last. This was more than a man grown, more than a leader, a lord. The word ‘sorcerer’ fitted this Luke best. “Do I still know you?” Han asked.

“Yes,” Luke answered with an honesty so deep that Han felt stunned by it. “But, Han, have I ever known you? Have you ever let me know you?”

“There’s not much to know,” Han said.

Luke smiled a little, a smile lightened with a touch of teasing and shadowed with sadness. “I’d better tell you now that I’ve heard every sentence of your confession. The local authorities wanted me to monitor the interrogation of my assassin. I’m profoundly grateful to them. At least I had a chance to know what you should’ve told me years ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s nothing you have to know!”

“Really?” Luke sat down on the bed and touched the fastener at the top of his black tunic. Slowly, gracefully, he began to strip, taking off every piece of his clothing. The body he revealed was lean, sharply defined muscles betrayed hard training.

“I think,” he said, “that I might want to know.”

“I couldn’t... if you heard everything, you should understand that I could never take you that way. I can’t do it to you, I can’t make you endure what I had to.” The protest was painful and Han was glad he could manage to say it.

“But I do understand. You don’t understand. It’s me who’s going to do the taking. There can’t be any other way, at least not now.” Centuries of wisdom and gentleness darkened the blue eyes. “If I want this, and I do, I can’t let you carry the burdens of your past any longer. You have never healed. You’ve just learned to pretend that your wounds are not bleeding anymore.” Luke came closer, his body naked, clean, like an offering on an altar.

Han stared at the hard, erect penis rising from a rich nest of red-gold curls. Unbidden, he blurted out the first thing he thought of. “I didn’t know you were circumcised.”

“I wasn’t,” Luke said and this time there were no shadows in his smile. “I had it done a year ago. When I decided to come after you, whether you wanted to be found or not. Chewie told me that Corellians are circumcised at thirteen, as a part of their coming of age ceremony. I thought you might feel more comfortable with me this way.”

“But you said you’ve heard my confession and then—”

“Oh, no, that’s not when I learned that you wanted me. I knew that that was why you left. I just didn’t understand what kept you from taking what you wanted. I waited for you to come back, waited for a couple of years, wanted to give you time to admit that you need me. Patience is a Jedi virtue, so I waited... But when I realized we’ll both grow old if I wait any longer, I decided to come here.”

“You knew I was here?”

“Han, how could I not know? Can you imagine that I’d let you go and not keep a constant watch over you? You left in a very confused state, I felt that.”

“Don’t tell me you knew that I was helping to blow you to the seventh hell!”

“I didn’t know that. Minute details are never clear in the Force. I felt your moods, I felt pain when you were hurt, I could tell when you were drunk, when you slept, when you had sex. That I felt. And lately, I felt desperation.” Luke slid his hand under Han’s head and, raising it up, leaned down and took Han’s mouth with a deep, possessive kiss. It went on long, searching, asking for the passion he knew was there, held back, chained, starved. When Han didn’t respond, Luke drew back and stripped the hospital coverall off Han’s body.

“Enough of this,” he said. He was trembling. Stilling himself wasn’t easy, but he couldn’t afford to be afraid now. “I’m either going to free you or kill you. It’ll be done.”

 

Decades melted off time and he was small and scrawny, the hands grasping his shoulders hurt. He knew what was coming, because Shrike said, “Punish him, but whatever you do to him, make sure it won’t show, I want him presentable tomorrow.”

He didn’t cry, there was no use of it, nothing could hurt enough to make him cry out, it usually got worse when he made noises. So he kept quiet. He knew pain, all kinds of it, the sudden ones when he was cuffed, the rhythmical ones that came with the whip, the creepy nauseous pain that was brought on by some of the short-term poisons Shrike would feed him as punishment. This was a very bad kind of pain, tearing and pounding, not only the pain inside him, but the pressure of the large body that weighted on him, until he thought his bones would crack against the deckplates. They never did. But he bled after that, and the pain stayed with him for days, though he never dared to show it. If Shrike wanted him presentable, he couldn’t walk funny.

The man who raped him behaved strange – as if he were having the best time of his life, almost like he was drunk, gasping and groaning, and sometimes saying strange things about Han being wonderfully tight and how his pained convulsions pleased him... But he only waited for it to be over, knowing it would be over and trying to close his mind to it. When it was over, he could drag himself to the sani, and wash... the cold water felt good on his body. While he was in there, alone, he could allow himself to whimper a little.

But now he wasn’t alone. There was another boy, a blond boy he’d never seen before, younger than him, probably five or six, with large blue eyes.

“They’re hurting you badly,” this boy said to him.

“It’s not that bad,” Han answered as he’d always answered.

“It is that bad,” the little boy said. “Kids your age are not supposed to be hurt this way.”

“You know a lot for a baby,” he said with disgust.

“It’s not your fault in any way that they do this to you. They are bad people. You’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I will touch you. It won’t hurt when I touch you. I’m not like them. My touch won’t hurt. I’m like you. You’re just a very unfortunate kid, but it won’t last forever.”

It was strange to let the small child with the old, old blue eyes wash him, but it didn’t hurt, not at all, all the pain was gone as soon as the wet cloth touched him. Even stranger, the bleeding stopped, and when Han went to his place to sleep, the little boy followed him without anyone saying anything about it as if no one had seen them. Han told the kid a million times to get lost, but even when he curled up to sleep and covered his head with his blanket, the little boy was still there, stroking his hair. Han had always slept alone. Now, there was a warm and comforting body beside him, gentle arms held him all through the night.

Days passed and the little boy was still with him. Must have been an invisible boy, because nobody ever talked about him or to him. When Han was sent to planetside to ‘work’ – steal or beg until his quota was done – the blond boy walked beside him. Stood right behind him when he was beaten. Slept with him. Talked to him. Weeks had gone by and Han found that the ‘baby’ could answer every question he had. Even about sex – that sex wasn’t something that required one to be hurt and one to enjoy, even if both of them were male. Han didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything about how people lived in families, he only had a very vague idea about what friendship or love was. For all he knew about the world, there were only two kinds of people, the abuser and the abused. He didn’t know that his life was abnormally brutal.

“It is,” the boy said, “It will be for a long time. But not forever. You are not going to turn into a monster when you grow up. You’ll leave these people.”

One day, the little boy kissed him on the mouth and said, “I’m leaving you now. We will meet again. Remember me.”

 

Han woke, lying on his back, not quite sure where and even less sure when. He looked down on his body, and the sight of it shocked him. He was expecting the scrawny kid he’d been. _‘Twas a dream_ , he thought. A particularly vivid one, because he could feel the pain as if he’d been raped minutes ago.

He bolted upright, looking around. The luxurious room, yes, some Kalathan hotel for the rich and the famous.

Luke.

“You’re up.”

Still naked. Standing by the table, with a cut glass goblet in his hand, calm and composed.

“What the hell have you done to me?” Han demanded.

“What you’d call ‘messing with your mind’, I guess.”

“That’s right! Little baby Skywalker walking into my past.”

“I had to share it. You wouldn’t let me get close any other way.”

“If I needed a psych-healer, I’d go to one.”

“You need much more than a psych-healer. Now, do you want me or not? You were dreaming about making love to me for years. I want it. Look at me.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Luke walked over to him and offered him the goblet. “Drink. You’re not in the very best shape, you need to gain some weight and you need decent food. I’ll call for a meal. After.”

“After?”

“Yes, after.”

“I thought it was after now. You’ve practically raped me, haven’t you?”

“No. Not practically. I did rape you. I had to hurt you to create a bridge to enter your past. To put you back where you still had a chance to understand that your wounds can heal.” His gentle touch on Han’s arm was the same as the little boy’s had been.

“You’re not saying you’ve been in my past, for real?” Han asked, trying to remember his years at Shrike’s without the presence of the invisible child. It was almost as if he had two different pasts, one utterly alone, one with Luke beside him. “Were you there?”

“I don’t know. I might have been. I’m not quite sure how this works,” Luke said with a small, apologetic shake of his head. “There are strange things I can do. Very strange things. Can you accept it? What I do is as close to sorcery as you can get. Most people keep their distance from me. I might be a hero of the Rebellion, the greatest Jedi, the only Jedi, but all in all, I’m frightening. I know, because sometimes I scare myself. I think I just managed to scare you.”

“Yes, you did that. Still... I’m beginning to believe that you... that you want me to stay with you.”

Luke knelt down between Han’s legs and touched his cock with his mouth. “I was hoping you would.”

“Gods, I’m not good enough for you.”

“Who is good enough for me?” The question was a whisper of warm breath against Han’s body.

“I don’t know, someone who’s... decent. Clean. Well learned, educated, better mannered. Someone who wouldn’t bury himself in a bottle.”

“Would you like to make a list of the candidates? Hell, Han, what do you think, who am I? What am I? Some kind of untouchable prince from a world you were never allowed to enter? I grew up on a farm. The ‘powers’ of the Force didn’t make me into a prince. If anything, they made me an outcast, a celebrated one, a revered one, but still a damned lonely one. I need you. I need your love. I need your feelings. How much clearer can I make it? I need your presence in my life. I need someone I can touch. Want it any more clear? I need you, body and soul. You’re not going to get away from me again.”

“You mean people are afraid of you?” That was news for Han. He’d never thought of Luke as someone to be feared.

 _And that_ , Luke thought, reading Han’s mind, _is why I love you_.

“Almost everybody is afraid of me in a way, yes. I can’t help it. They trust me, but most of them don’t know me from before. I understand it’s unnerving to have someone around who can read your mind, make you do anything he wants, even if I’m not doing it, even if I would never do it, it’s still unnerving to know that I could make them kiss my boots.”

Kneeling by the bed, the fine strands of his pale hair fanned out on Han’s thigh, he looked comfortingly young and vulnerable to Han, more human now than sorcerer.

“Han, sometimes I do scare myself. If I get angry, I have to hold back the power. At the beginning, it happened sometimes that I was projecting and a roomful of people started to feel my headache. I was tired, and a delegation of envoys dozed off around me.” Luke smiled. “I know better now, I can shield myself, but it’s hard, very hard. I don’t wear armor like Vader, but it feels the same, walking around with an invisible mask on my face. If not you, who can see me? Who can love me?”

Han’s first impulse was to say, _who couldn’t love you?_ But that would only invite more of the same arguments, avoiding what he really had to say. “You mean this. You really want me to stay with you.”

“I beg you.” It was a statement, plain and calm.

“Luke, I don’t know if I can be what you need me to be.”

“God damn you to the seventh hell, you _are_ what I need!” There was violence in the exclamation, there was violence in the strong hands that got hold of Han’s shoulders, turning him over. “I’ll let you feel it now! I went with you before, you’re coming with me now.”

The universe exploded with the brilliance of a million stars, endless space, the song of speed around him, wild and free, yet plagued with cries and whispers, a flood of faces turned toward him, questions, sudden pain, joy, fear, the agony of birth and death, grief and exultation, shame and triumph, a cacophony of emotions, need tearing at him like a thousand claws. Faraway whimpers of hurt touching him, the death of hundreds, the small pain of a thorn in the paw of an animal. Through the Force, all this, raining on him, no, not on him, on Luke, unceasing, merciless, battering him, nagging, piercing... the pain in so many forms, and the joy of life, throbbing and singing triumphant, gentle, the springfest songs and the lullabys, the choir of the wedding feasts, the minute sound of a joyous teardrop falling.

Han thought he’d go insane if it didn’t stop – and then, the noise of it faded, replaced by the sound of his own heartbeat, the taste of his skin, the feel of his body tight and hot around Luke’s shaft, the quickening promise of their pleasure, the heat of Luke’s breath on his neck, the explosion of his orgasm, his seed spilling on Luke’s hand just as Luke’s seed filled him. The universe was silent and distant, leaving the two of them alone, together. He turned and looked up, to see Luke tasting the liquid on his palm.

“I’d drink you,” he said before Han could say anything.

“I didn’t know...” Han started. “I didn’t know that you feel so much through the Force. I didn’t think anyone could feel all this and remain sane...

“You were talking about my wounds, what about yours then?”

“Those are not my wounds, I can feel a lot of pain coming from others, but I always have a chance to shut it out. Many times I do,” Luke admitted. “Not always. One can be shielded most of the time, but then I’m blind and deaf. But do you know now what it means to me, to have someone I can love, love so much, so hard that he fills my entire universe with his mere body, even without giving me his soul?”

“You’re the Jedi Master, you should know I’m not worthy of it.”

“I’m the Master, and I know what and who you are, and if I say I want you, I know what I want.” Han thought Luke’s eyes were sparkling with some of the old, playful light as he went on, leaning back on the pillow, one hand resting almost casually on Han’s arm. “If you’re such an unworthy lowlife, how do you dare to doubt the word of a Master if he says he needs you?”

The beginning of a grin moved Han’s mouth. “Well, I should know better than getting into an argument with you. You’ve changed a lot.”

“Yes. There’s a difference between a Jedi, a Jedi Knight and a Jedi Master.”

“You’re not... uh, using the dark side? I remember you telling me that the dark is very powerful.”

“I used to say a lot of stupid things.” Luke shrugged.

“Used to?” Han asked, and now he was actually smiling.

“Maybe I still do,” Luke allowed, glad of the smile he’d seen in Han’s eyes. _If Han can smile now_ , he thought, _then all I’ve shown him didn’t scare him away_.

“I think I changed when I understood that the power of life is always stronger than the power of destruction. Love sustains, hope inspires, but hate destroys, and fear paralyses. It should be obvious which gives more strength. Unfortunately, many people equate the power of annihilating something with victory. There is nothing to gain by destroying a living creature or an object. The only triumph is to have that creature on your side, to have the object serve your goals willingly and with understanding.”

“I don’t know... If you board a ship and shoot one of the crew, the others will start serving you pretty fast,” Han said.

“Yes, and they’ll spend the rest of their lives plotting to get rid of you.”

“There’s a point.” Han found himself glad to be proven wrong.

“In the struggle between good and evil, good is not only the choice that makes you feel happy in the long run, but it’s also logical, even if you look at it without sentiment, just with the cold logic of a scientist. Evil is simply inefficient. But I didn’t want to start preaching...” Uncertain now, Luke wondered if Han needed his touch more than his words. _Maybe I shouldn’t try to burden him with Jedi teachings now_ , he decided, waiting for an answer, not expecting what he heard when Han said, “Just go on, I kinda like what you say.”

“Why?”

“’Cause... I didn’t get much of this where I grew up, you know. People seldom had the inclination to talk philosophy to me. It was go there, do this, fix that, here’s your pay, stay back, get lost, let’s play cards, watch your back.” Han grinned. “I don’t know much beyond action, you see. It’s kinda nice to see where you’re coming from, you know. Besides, what you say sort of makes the universe look orderly somehow.”

He almost reached out to touch Luke and thought, _a little more time and I’ll do it. It’s going to happen. I’ll touch him... he’s taken me, touched me, he’s hurt me, and I didn’t mind, how much more does he have to do to prove that I’m hanging onto something I should be able to forget_... Still, his hesitant move to touch remained unfinished.

Luke noticed, but let it go. “Would you like to eat something now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Luke pulled up the blanket to Han’s waist, and reached out for a robe for himself – he’d barely tied the belt when a servant came in with a tray of food.

“You made him come in?” Han asked.

“I don’t see why should I pretend that I need to ring the bell.” Luke smiled. “Now, eat. The hospital patched you up, but what you’ve done to your body in the past couple of years won’t be repaired by tomorrow.”

Luke sat on the bed, watching Han eat, sharing the food. There was a smile in his eyes.

“Now what?” Han asked.

“Fifty years from now, we can still do this. Eat in bed.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we won’t be able to walk anymore.”

“Wanna bet?” Luke couldn’t see Han ever getting old.

“This is really good food,” Han said. He was sitting on the bed, the blanket wrapped around him. His hair was tousled and way too long even for a rogue. Luke decided he liked it that way.

“Glad to hear you like the stuff, because I picked it for the nutritional value, not for the taste.” He nudged another piece of baked kippa closer to Han.

“I can’t eat another bite,” Han protested.

“You’ll finish it later.” Luke didn’t even move, but the tray levitated to the table.

“That’s a neat trick,” Han said.

“And now for my next show—” Luke grinned. The blanket slid off Han’s body.

“Your show? Wait and see...”

Han reached out this time, slowly, tentatively, his palm barely brushing Luke’s arm. The skin there felt like warm silk, and now he wanted more. Pulling Luke closer, he buried his fingers in the shoulder-length hair, and it was, as he’d imagined, silk, just a shade cooler than the skin, and then he found the hottest silk he’d ever dreamed of, touched it with his fingertips, with his lips, and the nightmares barely stirred, very far in the distance, so far that he knew he didn’t have to think of them. For now.

He was wanted, he was invited, he was welcome. To touch, to taste, to hold. To give. Because he started to understand that this Jedi Lord-Master-Sorcerer with all the power at his command might still have the same needs as the farmboy he used to call ‘kid’ – and that maybe he really was the one to provide for him.

* * *

When Pietan came to visit Han a week later, Luke just stood back and watched the two stare at each other. They’d both changed, Pietan looking quite respectable, as a first consul should, and Han seemed ten years younger.

“I came to apologize,” Pietan said. “You were right about the Jedi.”

“It’s okay.” Han shrugged. “You couldn’t have known. All’s well with your revolution now?”

“Yes. From here on, we’ll manage. And you, you’re all right?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re staying here?”

“No. I’m going with Luke.”

Pietan grinned. “So, it’s true. You have the bond.”

“What bond?”

“The warrior’s bond, like in the old legends, when two great heroes bonded.”

“Is that what your people think of it?” Han asked, surprised.

“Sure, don’t you watch holos?”

“Never did,” Han admitted.

“You’d better, because the bards are already working on the tale. It will be a good one, for next year, the first anniversary of the change, a reenactment of how you almost had your lover blown up. With local actors. I’ve heard that the great Gareland himself wants to play you, and the search is on for someone to play the Jedi.”

“Mindboggling,” Han muttered. “Who’s going to play you?”

“I don’t know yet, there’s a lot of competition.” Pietan looked proud. “You’ll watch it? It’ll be on the net.”

“Sure,” Han promised. “Gotta see how I look in green.”

“More handsome,” Pietan teased. “I gave a copy of your confession to the bards. They said there’s almost nothing to be changed about it, it was pure poetry as it was.”

Luke nodded at this. He’d thought the same when he’d heard it.

Han sighed. “You’re going to spread it all over the holonet?”

“Set to music, of course,” Pietan said.

Han glanced at Luke. “You don’t mind? ‘Cause I’d rather not...”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past years, it’s that one can’t regulate art,” Luke answered. “I’m sure Gareland will deliver a magnificent performance.”

“You know his work?” Pietan asked.

“I’ve seen him on the stage once. He was wonderful.”

Han wasn’t sure whether Luke was serious or not. Perhaps he was, he thought. This Luke, this changed Luke, never ceased to surprise him. _I’ve gotten myself a strange sorcerer_ – the thought came easy, natural. _He’s mine_ , was the next, and Han stood there, transfixed. _Mine_.

Pietan was still talking about bards and legends, but Han didn’t hear a word. He stood a bit farther back, watching the dark-clad figure, the golden hair. _Mine. He’s mine. He belongs to me. And I belong to him_ , he added.

It was raining outside, gloomy clouds floated in the sky, and Pietan wouldn’t stop talking of plays and ballads – apparently his favorite subject besides revolution, Han thought. Luke sat down to make himself comfortable, offering a seat to Pietan.

Han, for lack of anything better to do, took a seat too and listened in. For all he cared, Pietan could sit there and talk their heads off. Eventually, he’d leave, and then, Han smiled to himself, they’d be together for the night. Again. Always.

If there was such thing as always, the voice of bitter experience spoke up, though Luke had said that life could come as close to always as possible, and perhaps, just perhaps, for now, always was today. And tomorrow.

One day at a time, he could even learn to believe in forever.

* * * * *

**Author's Note:**

> This story borrows parts of Han’s background from the universe of the pro novel _The Paradise Snare_ by A. C. Crispin.


End file.
